


Chasing Tomorrow

by Lady_Kale



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kale/pseuds/Lady_Kale
Summary: "'So, you think you can do it better?' a voice drifted from the darkness.And without even thinking of the possible consequences, my arrogant ass replied: 'Watch me.'After one life time of being 'just enough' I wanted to be extraordinary."Sannin Era OC/Self-insert inspired by masterpieces like 'Dreaming of Sunshine' and 'Catch Your Breath'.





	1. Chapter 1

Modern Era, Year ??.

Okay, so in my defense, I thought it was a _dream._ Like, one of those freakishly lucid dreams that occur in the five minutes between _waking up_ and your alarm _actually_ going off. (It’s not. It’s really, _really not._ And I’m still trying to work out how I _feel_ about it. Because, when it comes down to it, I _chose this._ ) 

But I had always been _one of those people._

One of those people who were _just enough._ Just smart enough that school was easy. Just athletic enough to make the team. Just popular enough to be invited to the party. Just charismatic enough to make it look like I had a plan. (Just, just, _just._ )

But that’s not who I wanted to be.

I wanted to be known for something; to be associated and _equaled_ to. And I wanted it viciously.

I wanted it so much … that well, I already told you. I thought it was just another dream. (I had them a lot - far off places, distant lands, _magic._ )

I didn’t remember until it was much too late.

_(“You think you can do it better?”)_

I wanted to be _extraordinary._

_(“Watch me.”)_


	2. ARC: The First. Chapter 1: Bright Star

Chasing Tomorrow

Written by LadyKale and Blondiej1

Arc: The First: Chapter 1 "Bright Star" 

* * *

_If you knew my story, you’d have a hard time believing me. You’d think I was lying. Joy and sorrow never last. I’ll die trying not to live in the past._

* * *

Modern Era, Year 12.

It started, well, just like you would expect a dream to start. You were just there; everyone knew who you were, you knew who they were and you didn’t think to question it. _It just was._

I was two, I think, when I first became cognisant of my surroundings. By which I mean, actively dicking around with the so called mechanics of the world.

And it makes sense. Two year olds are self aware, they’re mobile and have long grasped concepts like “action and reaction.” Two year old brains are _made_ to learn, and learn quickly. But my mind, my mind wasn’t two. All the processing/questioning abilities of twenty-something with a toddlers pre-wired brain synapsis? _Hello_ miniature ball of chaos.

Forget questions like _why_. I wanted to know _how_

They didn’t think I understood when they told me of chakra. When they showed me how to draw a matrix, or explained basic world laws (think gravity) it was with the air of an adult humoring a child. They weren’t seriously trying to teach me. But I learned it all anyway.

As for my part, I didn’t think it any of it was real. There were gaps - spaces of time that just seemed to vanish and pick up again with no rhyme or reason. I now know these gaps didn’t mean time _jumped,_ but rather that my young self had blocked out everything that wasn’t of immediate interest.

That is to say, it was the perfect formula for an extremely _bad_ situation.

Hindsight is a _bitch._

* * *

They called me Kaida, Kohaku Kaida.

From what I know, we were part of the Konohagakure Alliance in the Hi no Kuni. But our clan had its own village in the south, along Hangrui Golf. Concentrated and powerful, not scattered about like the Senju and Uchiha strongholds. We hadn’t wanted to leave it - the lush jungles and the bird song - hadn’t wanted anyone to see our secrets. And that was fine, that was cool with the Shodaime Hokage. So long as we agreed to 1) The Trade Sanctions and 2) Provide X number of shinobi to the Hidden Village per year per capita. Or … _something._

I wasn’t very interested in politics at the time. But adults never considered that I could _understand_ what they were talking about while I was in the room. I’m sure I learned _way_ more insider information then they ever intended. After all, I was only the ill-gotten daughter of a second rate blacksmith. Kohaku Kaida was never _meant to be_ anything but another mouth to feed.

But me? I had my own plans.

Because, as you all know, when one is dreaming, the sky's the limit. Sometime’s _literally._

To me, this “dream” was no different than dreams I’d had in the past. But there was one glaringly obvious difference that made my midget self positively cackle with glee. This world, this dream, this clan had Alchemy, or as they called it Renkinjutsu.

And, as my little brother learned the hard way, (in a ridiculous fantasy game we once played) I was _very good_ at Renkinjutsu (Alchemy).

Renkinjutsu is like chemistry on crack. It can do amazing, magical things - things you never even _dreamed of_. But it has rules, it has laws and hard limits. You have to work _with_ nature, through its own laws, to your desired outcome. And it is very much _not_ Fuinjutsu.

As the Uzumaki were famous for their Fuinjutsu, the Kohaku’s were famous for their Renkinjutsu. It was our strength, our art, our secret. It was the reason the clan never left our ancestral homelands. We were utterly unwilling to let _anyone_ get ahold of our Renkinjutsu.

If you learn anything about this practice through me, learn this. Renkinjutsu has one, singular, unbreakable law: Equivalent Exchange. And not even chakra, with all its power and will and utter _bullshit_ , can override this law.

To gain something, one must lose another thing of equal or greater value.

This rule governs all of life.

(Sorry, FMA fans. That’s it. That’s _the_ line. There is no stone, no door of truth - no circumventing The Law.)

Which means, in this world at least, Renkinjutsu was very much _not_ a combat art. It took time, even when you knew _exactly_ what you were doing. And, unlike Fuinjutsu, the Matrix couldn’t be slapped on a tag and waited for activation. Completing the circle of the Matrix _the_ activation. (This is all beside the fact that whatever you drew a Matrix on had to be able to withstand the force of activation anyway. Paper would simply turn to ash, transmutation aborted before it begun.)

So … yea, no. We didn’t do combat as a whole. What the Kohaku’s did was mass arms production. (You didn’t think blacksmiths made all those kuni and senbon by hand, did you?) Some of our Masters could make specialty weapons - swords and pole arms of varying sizes, shapes and freakishness - and armor (think “things that had more than one component.”) Our Grandmasters? Well - they were some pretty scary dudes.

There was one that lived across from my father's shop. Kohaku Wataru.

That guy was a freaking legend.

But even legends will stop and listen to a two year old, if said two year old is both smart enough and impetuous enough. (And let me tell you, Midget Me had _those_ two qualities in spades.)

“You look like a ragamuffin.” He said to me after I demonstrated a particularly clever (in my mind) earth transmutation. I had wanted a wall of steel (I had forgotten several variables) that I had “used” on my brother several times to great effect. It was simple, easy, effective and blew up _spectacularly_. (Didn’t intend for that last part.)

But that was the long as short of it. “You look like a ragamuffin” was apparently old man speak for “that was surprisingly talented for one of your age and motor skills, I shall take you as an apprentice.” Who knew?

That was when things got … we’ll use the word “interesting.” Which, here, means my life took a turn that I did not predict.

You see, Wataru-Oji was a shinobi as well as a GrandMaster. And he believed that in order to make weapons and armor, one must understand their use in a practical sense. “You cannot make a weapon to kill if you yourself have unstained hands.” He would say.

Which, okay looking back, was not an appropriate thing to be saying to a toddler. But did I pause? Did I stop and think “wait, that doesn’t sound right…”? No, no I did not.

Why? You ask.

Because I am an _idiot._

* * *

_I left my clothes on that cold river rock. My cares and my woes rolled up in my socks._

* * *

Modern Era, Year 12.

Life as Kohaku Wataru’s apprentice was … interesting. I was still young enough that large chunks of the monotony blur together. About the next four years of my life proceed in the same manner.

Before breakfast I would practice what I thought were dances. Looking back, it was glaringly obvious that they were Taijutsu kantas. But Midget Me took the “dance” part of their name quite literally.

For example, Tiger’s Dance was fast with explosive, sharp movements. The body was tucked close to the ground, minimizing myself as a target. Perfect for someone of below average height.(I’m not _that_ short, damnit!)

And then there was Willow’s Dance. Which I mentally referred to as “the Dance of lol, nope!” It focuses heavily on flexibility and balance. Also known as not being where the hit would land.

“You do realize that we live in a jungle, yea?” Midget Me once asked. “There isn’t a willow tree around for miles!”

Oji smiled a smile that promised lots of stamina exercises in the very near future. “Your stance is wrong. Start over!”

“Damnit!”

You see, each kanta had to be completed perfectly a set number of times before I could move onto the next kanta. And every couple of weeks, or when he was feeling particularly cantankerous, the old man tacked on five more sets. Each mistake made resulted in a clean slate - which is to say, no matter how close I was to completing one Dance, if a single hair was out of place I would start over from zero.

When my motor skills sucked and I was generally just uncoordinated, these dances could take all day. I would dance the same two routines from sun up until sun down. (Or when my little body collapsed from exhaustion.) As I got older and my muscles became familiar with the stretch and pull, the Dances were easy and _mind numbingly_ boring.

But Oji watched all the while, ready to correct the tiniest of mistakes. And, when he felt the dances became too easy, to set the bar higher (Namely by going faster, which made me sloppier, which kicked me back to zero.) or introduce a new dance into the routine.

As the years marched on, weights were added to my limbs and torso and obstacles appeared. But I was always required to complete my Dances perfectly before we greeted the new day. (It was a habit I would carry with me the rest of my life.)

After my morning Dances were complete (there were 6 variations in total). We would eat a late breakfast - or an early diner, depending on how many times I had to start over. While we ate Oji would lecture on the basic properties of Renkinjutsu.

“It is not enough to _know,_ Kai-chii.” He would say as a segway into a new topic. “You must _understand._ And that means you must-”

Nine times out of ten, the next word was “observe”. The remaining one tenth the answer was “Study.” And that, for the absolute _longest time,_ was how my afternoons were spent.

I would be sent out of the village and down to the river that ran along our Eastern Wall. “Watch the water Kai-chii. Watch it until you find its secrets.” (Vague and unhelpful was a _very_ strong theme)

This would lead to hours perched upon a muddy bank, watching the River as it would its way to the Hangrui Golf. I watched as it swelled with rain water; as logs and branches got torn apart in its currents. Banks eroded when it was forceful, silk would be deposited when it was calm. Colonies of various critters came and went, (and bit the ever living _shit_ out of me) circle of life and all that. (The River was Oji’s favorite place to send me. I watched it for a _very_ long time.)

“So, what did you learn?” He would ask when I stumbled back to his house.

Most of the time I was some combination of muddy, sweaty, itchy and grumpy.

Most of the time my twenty-something mind would regurgitate useless facts learned in various science classes. About the ecosystem, about the sediments and what it meant for lands further inland, the types of fish that thrived in our waters verses brackish waters - etcetera ad nauseum.

At those times his busy white brows would bunch together in a sort of frown. He’d nod gravely, like I had given him terrible news, and continue to his meal in silence.

But, every now and again, I would come up with something a bit more deep and philosophical.

“The River is patient,” I would say. “It lies in wait.”

“The River is relentless and nothing can stand it its way.”

“The River takes the path of least resistance while still accomplishing its goals.”

And, one particularly memorable time, after having spent the afternoon outside in a _freaking hurricane_. “The River always takes its due,” I was drenched and shivering, my throat sore and my skin too tight. “Through coercion, or patiences or force - but it always gets what it wants.”

At those times his bushy brows would raise to reveal silvery/yellow eyes that positively gleamed. “Well said, Kai-chii,” He would rumple like an overgrown cat. “Well said indeed.”

The diners that followed those declarations were lively, full of chatter, stories and song.

But I didn’t always spend my afternoons out of the village. A good twenty five percent of the time he would send to to someplace more populated.

“Tell me, Kai-chii, about human nature.” He would say before sending me to spend the day at the market, or Village Square.

Other times I was sent to the various blacksmiths (“What is the power of fire?”), woodworkers (“Where does life derive its meaning?”), the washer woman and the orphanage … really just about anywhere. But always with a vague philosophical question to mull over.

Every quarter, when the trade caravans were due, there was an increase in production. It was an “all hands on deck” situation as we were Hi no Kuni’s single largest weapons supplier. (Thanks, mostly, to our Renkinjutsu) Hundreds of thousand kunai knives, senbon and shuriken needed to be made, sharpened, oiled and packed neatly into crates. Then there was the armor orders - chest and back plates, forearm and leg bracers - and specialty weapons that had to also be processed, made and stored for transportation to Konoha.

It was utterly fucking ridiculous.

Children too young to handle sharp objects (and could also walk, _that_ was an important factor) drew mud and clay and silt from the River Bank. Older children chopped trees for fire, and still others would wander deep into the Jungle in search of Iron and Steel veins within the earth. (We could _make_ iron and steel - but it was easier for everyone if we already _had_ the ore.)

Adults would be hard at work too. Multiple transmutations really took it out of you, so they worked in shifts. For example, it was easier to make kunai and senbon then it was to make iron from raw materials. So the Third shifters would make the weapons before they completely crashed. (This was a two week, around the clock extravaganza - _no one_ escaped)

Elders, whose hands were gnarled and backs stooped, would take the iron and shave them away until they had blocks the exact size and weight of the ordered kunai. (the shavings were swept up for senbon) And they would also sharpen and oiled the finished product.

As an apprentice, I went where my master told me to go.

“Find the least appealing task, Kai-chii.” He would say gravely. “And you will most likely find the most need. Serve where you are needed until you are no longer needed. Then come and find me.”

I can tell you right now, _no one_ wanted to cart the piles of muddy goop from the River to the Village. No one wanted to carry the fire wood or work the bellows or mind the coals. _It sucked._

But Oji was right - these jobs _had_ to get done. So nine times out of ten, I was the one doing them.

When the orders were finally filled and crates stacked neatly in the Town Square (sometimes we made it before the caravanes arrives, sometimes they had to wait on us) the village _erupted._ Parties and drink everywhere, songs and (actual) dances were held until we actually _did_ collapse from exhaustion. And it was over as quickly as it started, we went back to our ordinary lives and _dreaded_ the arrival of the next caravan.

But there was one thing that the Kohaku’s dreaded even more then the next looming deadline. The tolling of the Square Bell (it wasn’t actually square, but it was in the village square and I _am not making this name up, okay?_ ).

When the bell rang, you could hear it for _miles_. And, when you heard it you _fucking stopped_ whatever it was you were doing.

One Ring: Shinobi Sighted

Two Rings: Allies Approaching

Three Rings: Enemies Approaching

Four Rings: Kohaku’s Returning.

We just … we _really_ would prefer it if the bell never rang. Because it’s terrifying hearing one ring and then _nothing._

Two Rings? Well, alright then. No cause for alarm.

Three Rings was meat with variations of “damnit” and “Suna again?”. (It happened more than you would think.)

The fourth toll was the worst because all our active Shinobi were stationed _in_ Konoha. They only ever came back sealed into scrolls as black as the night. They only ever came back _if_ the body was recovered.

If you haven’t ever been to our village, let me lay this scene out for you.

Kohaku’s are _loud._ They’re brightly (gaudily) dressed. They sing and they dance _all the freaking time_. There’s always alcohol and good food somewhere that you are welcome to. And absolutely no one has an issue airing their arguments for the entire village to hear.

So when they would _stop_ like that, it was like the world shifted out of alignment. Like the sun just decided not to rise - it was so profoundly _wrong_ that even the birds and beasts of the jungle sat up and took notice.

In quiet, orderly lines the villagers would troop into the Town Square upon the completion of the fourth toll. There they would pack together and settle into seiza to wait more news. (Seiza is a formal way to sit - something we _never did_ , and it was only learned about through osmosis in these terrible occasions.)

Sometimes, we never figured out _who it was._ And other times - other times this wail would come up from the crowd as someone recognized the body when it was unsealed. Kohaku’s mourned just as loudly and viciously as they lived.

We would sit there, everyone who wasn’t _immediately needed_ , in seiza until the next dawn. And then we would troop down to the River for a proper funeral.

The general rule of thumb was, after the first year in morning, you got one day. Just one single day a year in which you could honor and grieve for your dead. One day for the dead so that you do not forget to live yourself.

And so, on the twenty-third of November, like clockwork, Oji would disappear into the jungle. A bag full of incense and spiced bread over one shoulder, his cane and painted portraits in the other. On the twenty-third of November, Oji mourned his lost kunoichi wife and shinobi son of whom he rarely spoke.

He would come back on the twenty-fourth, quietly pack their portraits into the Square Shrine (Again, it wasn’t exactly a square, it was just in the Square _and I am not responsible for these names!_ ) and life would spin back into place. Generally with another lesson or Dance that would drive me insane for the next two or three months.

My father mourned his brothers on the second of June.

It was the only time I saw him.

He was a small man with brown hair and a surprisingly red beard. His arms and neck were thick with muscle, his back hunched from work.

only thing we had in common was the Kohaku Silver eyes. Cat’s Eye, they were called. It was such a ridiculously dominate trait that any child born without them earned a permanent spot in the Village Rumor Mill.

And, you know, to a relatively isolated village the Rumor Mill was life. (read: the only form of entertainment.)

My father and I did not get along - almost entirely my fault, I will admit.

Remember, I thought it was a dream - a ridiculously lively, colorful and detailed dream to be sure. But still only a dream.

So in my mind, I already had a father. One who had taught me to read and ride a bike; one who took me fishing and hiking (and all those other things you couldn’t convince him girls didn’t like).

To my twenty-something ming, Kohaku Itsuo was not my father. And I treated him as such.

He was an angry man with a failing business on the wrong side of town. He had no talent to speak of, his lover had left him with a bastard to raise and his father scorned him. (The list that comprised “Chip on his shoulder” continues.)

I didn’t blame him so much for his feelings as I did for the way he handled them.

Oji, similarly, was unimpressed by his temper and moved me into his own house shortly after my apprenticeship. (Against the will of Itsuo and _his_ father - who generally despised my existence as a rule.)

“It’s okay to be angry Kai-chii.” Oji would council. “It is okay to _act_ upon anger. But it is never okay to blame another for the thing that angers you.”

Which, roughly translated, means that I was to acknowledge anger as my own reaction to a problem and deal with it as such.

He said a lot of things that I hadn’t realized I’d taken to heart. The normal way for me to find out would be after I was already halfway through quoting him to someone else.

Oji taught me many things (except how to _read_ , but more on that later) that I would, in time, come to teach others. But there was one subject matter that I vowed I would never share with another living soul.

Renkinjutsu, outside the elementary basics, is a rather sacred art. Since it works through nature’s own laws, it took many generations to study and observe and compile the effects. (It was in this way that it was unlike fuinjutsu, which uses chakra to impose its own laws and will on the affected area.) And it didn’t help that GrandMasters were (as a rule) stingy old codgers who never wrote anything down and only shared their learnings through Oral Tradition.

OH. They also only focused on _one_ branch of Renkinjutsu (with ridiculously vague and grandiose names attached). So, if I wanted to learn something that fell outside Oji’s scope of Storm Alchemy, I would have to track down another teacher.

“Oji, what do you know about fossils?” I asked, looking at the impression a leaf left in the mud.

“Hm. You would first have to find the Avalanche Alchemist before you find the answer to your questions.”

So began the process of hunting down various other Masters and Grandmasters (the Avalanche Alchemist? She was a housewife.) And then convincing them that I was _worthy_ of the knowledge. (The Echo Alchemist was the first to introduce me to Chakra - So that I could hang upside down like a bat).

If said Master already had an apprentice - I would have to prove myself the _worthiest._ It was obnoxious and tedious and I didn’t always get the answer I was after. But it rarely, if ever, deterred me.

At this point, I’m sure you’re thinking _Kaida._ You aren’t _making sense._

Who are the Kohaku?

Why aren’t they in Konoha?

How can you write this if you can’t even _read._

More importantly, if you are intelligent, you’re probably still wondering how I thought it all a dream.

I’m sorry to say, I don’t think you will find the answers satisfying.

Renkinjutsu had its own language. It’s own jargon and symbols (hell, it even had its own counting system!) and syntax. In all of these, I was most fluent. It was the language of my people, our village and our time.

Not to mention … we didn’t get out much.

None of the old Fire Country Clan’s did in those days. Almost all of them, the Inuzuka, the Aburame, the Kurama; at least had their own dialect, if not a different language entirely.

It was only with the rise of Trade and Clanless Villages (and in Konoha itself) that language became centralized. Even then it took several generations and some terrible events before a single language was universally spoken across all of Ho no Kuni. (forget the Elemental Nations, that would be a nightmare for the next _Century_ )

Alchemist worked in Oral Tradition - all of that other language stuff? It was utterly unimportant to anyone who wasn’t part of the Royal Family (we didn’t tend to acknowledge other Royals), a merchant or an active shinobi. Of these, I was none.

As for the dreaming …

Have you ever been entirely convinced of something? So completely sure that you were right that you never bothered to observe evidence to the contrary? No? I didn’t think I was like that either.

The only thing I can say in my defense is this: I didn’t remember my first life ending and my second life beginning. I had no reason or desire to believe otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to Chasing Tomorrow. This story is largely inspired by other Naruto SI fics floating around - several of whom you will like better then cannon. 
> 
> Blondie and I wanted to challenge ourselves by writing a coherent fic in a timeline that is largely ignored in the Naruto Cannon. There are several important - pivotal - things that happen in this era that are not explained, glossed over or simply ignored. We would like to explore these plot points and pick apart the threads of the Naruto Universe to bend them to our will.  
> We are also taking great pains to avoid some of the more common ideas that float around the emerging SI fics. So be prepared for sharp left turns and world building. We don't like to be predictable. 
> 
> On another note, I am dyslexic and often too impatient to wait for Blondie to edit. We apologize in advance for any glaring, hideous errors.


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